


Something That Means Something

by gloss



Series: Verde que te quiero verde [2]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mundane, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Stoners In Love, idek it's romantic to me, sloppy lazy fucking, stoners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:35:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23762428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: Finn has a lot on his plate. He should probably be freaking out at regular intervals about some of this, if not most of it. There's the honors program and an impending co-op assignment; there's working three different jobs; there's the hot dirtbag weirdo he's been making out and fucking around with for a couple weeks now.Happy 420. 💚
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn
Series: Verde que te quiero verde [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1711858
Comments: 5
Kudos: 43
Collections: 420 Fanworks Fest





	Something That Means Something

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  [title](https://youtu.be/HOagXE-ErhI)  
> 

Finn has a lot on his plate. He should probably be freaking out at regular intervals about some of this, if not most of it. There's the honors program and an impending co-op assignment; there's working three different jobs; there's the hot dirtbag weirdo he's been making out and fucking around with for a couple weeks now.

But he isn't freaking out. He's busier than he's ever been, doing things he's never done before (LU decomposition; waiting tables; sucking dick), but he's never felt quite so calm-yet-thrilled about life.

"Maybe because you're a freakish overachieving freak," Rose says and Rey nods solemnly in agreement. Their gravitas is undermined by the fact that Rey is currently wielding a Miffy the Bunny pipe.

"He's dedicated!" Poe protests and while Finn is touched that Poe wants to defend him, he's now super-embarrassed that Poe heard any of that. He'd assumed the guy fell asleep at least an hour ago. "Also, hand that over, you don't know what you're doing with it."

Rey holds the pipe over her head, easily defeating Poe's lackadaisical feints. "I know exactly what I'm doing with it."

"Are you smoking it?"

"No."

"Then you don't know."

Rose elbows Rey. "He has a point, for once."

"Thank you, I do!" Poe rolls onto his other side to face Finn, in the process knocking over their (thankfully empty) cans and smushing a pizza box under his cheek as a pillow. "Hey, buddy. Question."

"What's up?" Finn asks softly, and makes himself ignore what he's sure is the exchange of eye-rolls between Rose and Rey.

"Are your friends going to be here much longer?"

Snorting, Finn does check the girls now. They're leaning forward and gazing at him intently.

"Are we, Finn? Or is this maybe your room and you can have your own social life?"

"You can all go to hell," Finn says wearily. He plucks the pipe from Rey's loose grip and digs around on the floor for a lighter. "I'm going to smoke a little, y'all can stay or whatever."

"What if we want to fuck you?" Rose asks innocently.

"Trick question!" Poe yells. "That's for me!"

Honestly, the most difficult aspect of his new life is his damn friends. Finn would tell them that, too, in a heartbeat, but it's not like they listen to him at the best of times.

*

They're sitting at the top of the hill behind the dorm. The night is mild for the season, probably worryingly so, but it's still chilly enough that Finn has his shoulders hunched and his hood up. He'd have his hands buried in the hoodie's pocket, but one's holding Poe's hand while the other wields their joint.

"What's your major, anyway?" 

Closing his eyes, Poe hums in response, swaying slightly to the tune. 

Finn waits. 

Finally, Poe opens his eyes and shoves Finn lightly in the shoulder. "Can't believe you don't know my major."

"Starting to think _you_ don't know your major."

"Smart man." Poe leans in just as Finn takes a toke. When his lips brush Finn's jaw, Finn feels it all the way down his spine and around his heart. "Give me a hit, you earned it."

*

"I don't think we can shotgun _every_ time we make out," Finn says. 

He's stuck on the fact that there's someone with whom he's making out regularly enough that it's a topic of conversation. 

Poe's face falls. His spine and shoulders go soft, leaving him hunched over. He mumbles something impossible to make out.

"What's that?" Finn asks.

Poe shrugs one shoulder, then hunches more, eyes downcast. With his forefinger, he draws a sad loop on the quilt. "We could _try_." Before Finn can respond, Poe lifts his face and stares into Finn's eyes. He looks utterly miserable, but also resolute. "Owe it to ourselves to try."

Finn opens his mouth, but doesn't say anything. Instead, he cups Poe's cheek. Poe leans into the touch, his eyes drifting shut. His lashes brush his cheek.

"We'll still be making out," Finn says. "That's not about to change."

Poe doesn't move, but his smile spreads sudden and wide. "Why didn't you say so?"

"Kind of took it as a given?"

"Don't do that, man, that way leads to all kinds of confusion."

"I'm starting to understand that, yes." Finn moves in to kiss Poe then, easing himself down along Poe's side, but Poe remains half-sitting up.

He's scowling in concentration. "Just so we're clear —"

"Yeah?"

"We're making out without shotgunning but _also_ without any reduction in makeouts?"

"That's about the gist of it, yes."

"But why?"

Finn hides his face in the curve of Poe's neck so he can laugh. When he's finally able to speak, he says, "because I'm not a millionaire and I'm pretty sure you aren't either."

"Oh," Poe says. His voice is still hoarse. "It's not the quality of the bud or like you're going straight-edge on me?"

"Hell, no." Finn gives up on waiting and kisses him then, at the soft base of Poe's throat where the skin's tender and warm. He kisses upward, marveling all over again — always for the first time, he likes to think — at how _close_ they can get their bodies. How easy it is to tangle themselves up and stay like this. He's been so far apart from everyone in his life until now.

When he reaches Poe's mouth, Poe's sighing and wrapping an arm around Finn's neck and kissing back already, like he's been waiting an _age_ for Finn to get here.

*

The siren gets louder on every shrieking cycle.

"Up! Fire alarm! Up!" Finn has his hoodie halfway over his head as he shakes Poe's shoulder. "Up!"

Poe rolls out of bed and assumes some sort of ninja position (he's been rewatching early Naruto lately, for complicated reasons). "Where?"

"Shoes, man."

Looking down, Poe wiggles his toes. "I sleep barefoot."

"Okay, fine —" Finn gets Poe's hand in his, double-double checks his pockets for keys and ID, and hustles him toward the door.

"I need my stuff, though," Poe says as he stops. He's suddenly immovable, incredibly heavy. 

"It's a fire alarm," Finn says, shoving at his shoulders. "You can leave your weed for half an hour."

"But what if —"

" _Go_."

Despite everything, they still make it outside before most of the rest of the dorm. Poe gets up onto Finn's shoulders so their floor can find him; his balance isn't the greatest up there, but Finn finds that if he braces one foot against the edge of the sidewalk, he can keep them stable. At first, he's got his hands on Poe's knees, but it's steadier when he slides his grip up a little higher along the seam. Poe tugs on one one of his braids and laughs as he tightens his thighs against Finn's neck.

Somehow, in all the waiting around and blame-exchanging and kibitzing, Finn loses his hoodie; Poe loans it to a girl from the second floor, but later Finn sees it on a sad-faced person from the top floor. Two days later, he _swears_ he sees someone else entirely wearing it.

"What matters is we were all warm and safe," Poe says, rather pompously for someone who loses others' beloved hoodies. "Isn't that the important thing?"

Finn flicks a tater tot at Poe, who tries to catch it with his open mouth. "Just get my hoodie back, man."

Poe cocks an eyebrow. "Will you make it worth my while?"

"I will make it not fatal for you, sure," Finn tells him.

Poe whistles. "You're _hardcore_."

"Oh, yeah," Finn says. "I'm a stone cold legend."

*

They've been in bed for well over twelve hours. A lot of that was sleeping, but not all.

It's Finn's birthday weekend. Poe promised to make it so he didn't have to get out of bed _once_. Finn assumed that meant delivery food, maybe lots of snacks, and while there have been snacks aplenty, Poe's main strategy appears to be orgasms and naps.

Finn is not complaining. Not at all.

Poe smiles wickedly when they wake from the most recent nap. He starts to walk his fingers around the curve of Finn's hip, heading for his ass, then yelps when Finn rolls over, out of reach.

"Go wash your hands first," Finn says.

"Ma-a-an," Poe singsongs. "Why, though?"

Blindly, Finn kicks at him. "If you have to ask, dude, we need to have _several_ talks."

"Ugh. It's just. The bathroom's so far. It's all the way down the hall!"

Finn looks over his shoulder. "And yet if you'd gone already, you'd be back. Think about that."

Poe's shaking his head as he slides off the bed and finds his balance. "That's impossible. That would require some kind of particle accelerator? For time travel."

"So you're a physics major?" Finn rolls onto his side and stretches. It takes longer than he expected; the tingle runs from his knuckles all the way down his arms, through his chest to lift each rib, and then down across his stomach and each leg.

Poe is stock-still, mouth open, watching.

"What?" Finn pushes up to one elbow. "Hands, man. Go wash."

"Don't wanna," Poe mumbles and cocks his head, lip caught in the corner of his lips, as he moves closer. 

"You gotta."

"Maybe I can just..." Poe works one knee into the space between Finn's legs. He looks up, hope radiant all over his face. "Can I just promise not to use that hand?"

"Go wash up," Finn says, twisting right to throw Poe off balance. "I'll make it worth your while."

It's quiet for a moment, then a few more. Finally, Poe clears his throat. "Yeah?"

"Limited time offer, but, yeah. Get going."

While Poe's down the hall, Finn gargles and drinks down half a Gatorade, checks just how much his pits stink (bad, but not as terrible as he was dreading), and strips the bottom sheet off the mattress.

He's half-inside his closet, looking for the clean sheets, when Poe returns.

"Dude! You said! What?"

Finn settles for a clean flat sheet and shakes it out over the bed before tackling Poe's insistent, but also incomprehensible, statements and questions. He pushes the rest of the bed clothes up between the headboard and the wall, smooths down the new sheet, and bounces down onto it.

"You're back," he says to Poe. "Awesome."

Poe scratches the side of his nose. He has a hickey blooming at the junction of his left shoulder. Finn bites the inside of his cheek, looking forward to getting back to it. "Got a little sidetracked..."

"You? Really? That doesn't sound —"

"Shut the fuck up," Poe mumbles and kneels on the edge of the mattress, holding Finn by the shoulders and kissing him deeply. "I washed _so good_ , that's what matters."

"Yeah," Finn says, and when he exhales, he brings Poe down atop him, resuming the kiss, then biting his way down Poe's neck. 

"Man, but —" Poe shakes his head as he pulls a little away. He looks confused by his own actions. "You said."

"What did I say?" Finn wiggles underneath Poe, working one arm free to pillow under his head. The afternoon sun fills up the room like it's tangible, weaving through the smoke and dust until everything is edged with radiance.

"You'd make it worth my while," Poe says in a rush. He looks away, almost like he's superstitious about jinxing himself.

"That's what I'm doing," Finn replies. That was _ridiculously_ suave, holy shit; he has to take a second to grin before grabbing Poe by the back of the head and kissing him hard. He flips them messily, not half so smoothly as he was picturing, but lets momentum and enthusiasm make up for that.

"Where're you going?" Poe mutters and hefts himself more on top. "Stop wiggling."

"You love the wiggling," Finn says, reaching as far as he can for the round blue cookie tin. "Gimme one —"

Poe presses him down. "Stay."

"I'm not —" With a deep breath and sheer determination, Finn manages to knock the tin off the windowsill to the mattress. Poe paws at him, their legs tangled up, and all the wriggly friction, on top of the sheer physical closeness, is making Finn breathless and giddy and _horny_.

Tin clutched in one arm, he rolls Poe back and kisses him some more. Their hips start working, twitching here, switching there. Poe is flushed beneath him, eyes nearly closed, mouth swollen and hair exploding like a dandelion to seed.

"I've got one more jay of that sinsi," Finn tells him, then waits for the information to filter through to Poe's brain.

When it does, Poe tries to sit up and grab for the tin. He hooks an arm around Finn's neck and they grind up against each other before he refocuses. "Gimme!"

"For old time's sake," Finn says slowly and holds the tin out of reach. "Let's —"

Poe doesn't wait. He throws himself at the tin, knocking it from Finn's hold, and curls around it. "Mine. I'll share, though."

"Oh, yeah?" Finn rolls his head until his neck cracks. He's hard and only getting harder. "Interesting, considering it's _mine_."

Poe holds up a finger. "I gave it to you, though."

"Yes, which makes it...say it with me. _Mine_."

"Ours."

Finn thinks it over. "Fair, okay."

"No shit, really?" Poe freezes, hands in the tin.

"Really."

He smiles then, so wide and happy, that Finn smiles back. He was already smiling, so the expression must look incredibly dopey, highly cringey, but he cannot summon the will to care about that, at all. 

Finn lights the joint for Poe as it dangles from his lips, kisses him when Poe takes a drag, then helps himself while Poe sinks against him, kissing the side of his neck and murmuring to himself.

It's the best stuff Finn has ever smoked. The company, of course, doesn't hurt; half-naked with someone he never wants to stop kissing is basically the best situation he can imagine. The smoke nudges and licks its way through his body, skimming over his nerves, softening every thought, leaving him feeling very heavy and yet barely bound by gravity. When Poe kisses him again, they're both slow and savoring, every texture of lip, tongue, and tooth somehow brand-new and delicious.

Although Finn's hands feel pretty distant, off having a good time, he manages to get one into Poe's briefs. For a while, he doesn't do anything else, just kisses Poe and cups his dick. Tingles tremble outward from his fingertips; behind his eyelids, he can just about _see_ the tingle glow as it haloes his hand, mimicking its curve, stroking Poe just like he's doing.

"You feel that?" he whispers against Poe's cheek and Poe shrugs and laughs and rolls his hips up into Finn's touch. That might as well be a _yes_ , so Finn wraps his fingers around the shaft and strokes the hot, swollen head with the side of his thumb. Eventually, Poe's wheezing, eyes squeezed shut, hand clutching and flexing on Finn's arm. "I was gonna blow you but I —"

"Yeah," Poe says hurriedly, "yeah that's —"

Everything is burnished and very warm, heavy and slow but shot through at the core with weightless threads of brilliance. Poe's orgasm seems to last for half an hour, but it's also over very quickly, and then it takes Finn a while to retrieve his hand to lick it clean.

Poe watches him, red-stained eyes and redder mouth, his chest heaving. He looks surprised and _moved_ , thunderstruck. His hand shakes a little as he reaches up and catches Finn's wrist.

Then they're kissing again and Finn has Poe's come and his tongue in his mouth and he starts moaning without meaning to. Poe slides down his body — it looks like someone's pulling him by the ankles — and Finn mumbles, protests, reaches for him but Poe just shakes his head. He's smiling again.

He says something reassuring that is noise, not quite words that Finn understands. It joins the percussive thump of Finn's heart and the woodwinds and strings of his nerves tingling and sparking. It's very pretty, much like Poe himself. Finn reaches for him again, grazes his fingers down Poe's cheek, but then he can't say anything, because Poe buries his face between Finn's legs and it's the best thing Finn has ever felt in his entire goddamn life. There's Poe's mouth, and it's hot and wet, _slick_ , and his stubble and his laughter and all these things are wrapping around Finn's dick, taking it inside themselves — mouth, laugh, palm — and squeezing, licking, _working_ him. Poe cups his balls, kisses them, too, spreads his attention everywhere that feels good until Finn has both feet on the bed and he's thrusting up, ass lifting off the mattress, and Poe has about seven hands and mouths that are sucking him off and playing with his balls and teasing his hole. Sensations cascade, mix up, tumble together and as they move through him, their trails twinkle and spark, which makes for new feelings, so every one sensation generates more, and more. Finn's throat hurts, his mouth is stretched open on a sound that comes and goes. He gets a glimpse of Poe, far below Finn's hollowing stomach; Poe is frowning, brows drawn up, face brick-red, dick in his mouth like he was born to it.

Finn thrusts, bounces, twists around the fingers half a knuckle deep inside him. He tunes in for a moment to the noise of slurping, of Poe's encouraging grunts, his own pleas, and then that noise rises back into thunderous static. He's been coming for a while now, rolling his hips, his dick jumping and shooting, the come filling Poe's beautiful mouth. He's been coming, he's going to keep coming, he cries out and fucks himself down, then up, and now Poe's crawling back up the length of Finn's body to hold him and kiss him and he tastes like _spunk_.

Finn wraps his arms around Poe and rolls them over. His breathing comes harsh and irregular but all he feels is enormous and warm, buzzing at various edges and across different patches.

*

"You busy tonight?" Poe asks without looking up from the chaotic bundle that is his three-ring binder. He already has a fork holding one place, his fingers interwoven to other spots, and now he's scribbling with his less-dominant hand a note to himself on the back of paper plate.

"I've got work, sorry." 

"Finger sandwiches? Tell me there will be finger sandwiches? Spring rolls, maybe?"

"Looks likely, yeah." When Poe pumps his fist in victory, Finn asks, "Why? About tonight, I mean?"

It's unusual enough for Poe to look to the end of the current hour, let alone a whole day.

"Nothing, just had an idea..." Poe flips back to the start of his binder, and the fork goes flying. "Shit. Do you have a sugar packet I could use?"

Finn passes him a spare pack of sticky notes. He always has extras in his bag, so, despite what Rose claims, he's not prepared _just_ for Poe. Anyone might need stickies! They're very useful.

Grinning, Poe flips the little stack with his thumb. "I love these things."

"They're detachable, you know." Finn reaches over to peel off the top note and press it down along the edge of a binder page.

"But now it's not with his friends," Poe says heavily.

"He's just at work. Doing his sticky job."

"True," Poe says and sighs. "Gotta make the green for all the little stickies. They grow up so fast."

"Or for its own sticky needs," Finn says. "Shampoo and new kicks and quality herb don't come cheap, even for sticky notes."

Poe meets his eyes and smiles a little. He still looks sad — he always looks a little sad; it's the eyes, Finn thinks, their heavy lids and dark color — but no longer miserable. 

"You're so smart," Poe says finally.

Startled, Finn laughs too loudly and leans back in his chair, throwing up his hands.

"What?" Poe asks.

"Nothing! Thank you! Just —" Laughter's still rippling through Finn, this sudden overwhelming delight, something he's never felt before meeting Poe. Like the guy keeps surprising him, but in _good ways_. All the time, and yet it's unpredictable, too. How does that even work?

Poe keeps grinning at him, his chin planted in his palm and elbow stuck precariously on the edge of the table.

"Man," Finn says, trying to catch his breath, but every time he gets close, he gulps on another run of giggles. "I'm going to be so late —"

"Wednesdays, nine to twelve," Poe recites, "Topics in Structural Design."

"You got it." Finn's both touched and exasperated by how well Poe knows _his_ schedule, while he seems to treat his own as an ongoing improvisational performance piece. "You?"

Poe shrugs and waves his hand dismissively. "This and that."

 _It's none of your business,_ Finn reminds himself. He knows that's not quite true; if he cares about Poe, which he does, then it _is_ his business. It's just not his problem? That's not right, either.

"See you later?" Finn stands up, slinging his bag onto his shoulder. 

He can't fix anything just by adding his worries to the situation. That's what he's trying to keep clear. The level of his care isn't measured by his worry.

Batting his eyelashes, Poe turns up his cheek for a kiss. Like they're not right here in the cafeteria.

Or, Finn thinks, dropping a kiss on Poe's forehead and messing up his hair, _exactly_ like they're right here. Wherever they are, that's the right place.

*

Finn has a full day of lecture and tutorials, and then only about thirty minutes to get cleaned up and changed for work. On top of his work-study job, he's been moonlighting with a catering co-op that Rose hooked him up with. The money is better than work-study and there are usually, as Poe has come to depend on and look forward to, leftovers like finger sandwiches (soggy but edible) and mini-omelettes and other hors d'oeuvres (clammy but ditto).

Finn takes the hike from math tutorial to the reception at the Humanities Centre at a brisk jog. Luckily, his "uniform" for cater-waitering is just a white button-down shirt tucked into dark trousers, so he's been carrying that around in his bag all day. He changes in the first washroom he finds, pats down his sweaty face with several rough paper towels, and gets his breathing back to normal before heading up to the event area.

He hasn't spent much time at all around the Humanities complex. Everything here is blond birch and pale steel, long curved windows that let out over the woods. It's past twilight now, so the woods have become vaguely billowy shadows. The emergency lights flick on occasionally along the paths, glow smoky white for a bit, then go dark.

He and Rose set up the serving tables and lay out the glasses. Finn doesn't have his Safe Serve certificate yet, but when he does, he figures he can double what he earns at these things. He'd make a good bartender, he thinks; he's a good listener, hands off, with a decent memory.

"What's the thing tonight?" he asks Rose, who shrugs. She's wearing her half-tuxedo tonight, the one that makes her look somehow intimidating _and_ cute.

"Ask Kaydel, I just pass the food," Rose says on her way to the van. "But before you do that, get the Sterno going for the hot eats."

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am," Finn says but his crisp salute is lost; Rose is long gone already.

"Hell if I know," Kaydel tells him when he asks her. "Ask Statura, he books all these things."

"But then I'd have to talk to Statura," Finn says under his breath. She hears it, winks, and starts peeling the foil off the trays of vegan sausage bites.

"Everything's got a downside," she says as they work down the line of trays. "Funny how it's always true."

Soon enough, the gallery space starts to fill up. The crowd is a lot more mixed than these things tend to be — grad students and artists equal the number of frowsy academics talking over each other. They devour the nondairy cheese puffs and tofu-scallop nibbles, but leave the raw spring rolls untouched.

Statura, of course, makes out like a bandit at the bar, pouring shitty boxed wine like it's Moet and nudging the tip bowl subtly, but unmistakably.

A motley assortment of people trudge in turn up to the lectern and read or perform very restrained, almost enervating poetry. Finn's on the other end of the milling crowd, replacing hot trays and passing, with little luck, the spring rolls.

"Uh," Rose says from beside him. He's never seen quite that expression that she wears now. It's half-surprised, partly nauseous, but also like she's about to start laughing and be unable to stop.

"What?"

She widens her eyes and steps, hard, on his right foot. He's only wearing Vans, so he feels the impact in every bone. " _Look_."

And then that's all that Finn can see: Poe at the lectern, wearing that black ribbed turtleneck he hasn't taken off since they say _Jules et Jim_ at the Film Society a couple weeks ago. He has a glittery scarf tied around his head, like he's Jackie O out on the waves.

And he's reading poetry. Or possibly it's a scientific paper. There are elements of both, so far as Finn can tell. He's having trouble listening; his hearing goes in and out, occasionally overwhelmed by the sound of his own heartbeat. He can't take his eyes off the man up there, slouched with an elbow on the lectern, hand twisted in his hair, speaking quickly, but calmly, never urgently.

Afterward, a tall woman takes Poe's place and starts reading. Finn is, however, pacing behind the food tables, arms crossed, breath coming too quick, way too shallow.

"Did you save me spring rolls?" Poe asks, doing that lazy magic thing he does where he winks into existence just outside of Finn's vision. He leans against the window, wrapping one hand with an end of his scarf. "You know I love those."

"Yeah," Finn says. "I know."

"They're surprisingly tasty," Poe continues, holding one up as an example.

"Plenty more where that came from."

"Good, good." Poe pushes off from the window, approaching Finn like he's narrowing down a thought, clarifying, coming true. He takes Finn's hand. "I wanted you to come to this, right? But then —"

"It worked out," Finn says. He's just stating random, although simple and verifiable, facts. "Here I am."

"I'm glad."

Their voices are hushed. They're the only ones here, or time has taken a break, and they're simply existing.

"You could get back to work," Statura says as he hustles back. "That could be a thing? Let's make that a thing, Finn."

The corners of Poe's lips twitch with the effort not to smile. "You're in trouble."

"You're a terrible influence, that's why. The worst." 

"I try my best," Poe says.

Reluctantly, very slowly, Finn takes his hand back and starts loading up a tray. "Can I interest you in vegan sausage bites? All the grease, none of the flavor."

Time gets back into motion, in fits and starts, as they pull apart and try to act more appropriately. Whatever this event is — Finn gathers in dribs and drabs that it's an honors banquet for the cross-disciplinary institute, which he's never heard of — Poe wins an award that brings him back to the lectern. He has a thick gift-wrapped book under his arm the next time Finn passes him in the crowd.

The time after _that_ , Poe grabs Finn's elbow. He's lucky the tray is mostly empty and Finn can set it down on the table. 

"I want you to meet someone," Poe says, insistent and glittery-eyed. He has a plastic highball glass in his other hand and Finn gets a whiff of cognac. "Finn! Do you have a second?"

"For you? Maybe two," Finn says, and it's not suave, not nearly, but when Poe grins at him, it's all Finn can do not to kiss him.

"Dr. Organa?" Poe all but drags Finn several steps to a knot of people around a tiny woman, the one, Finn realizes, who handed out the awards. "This is _Finn_."

She looks up at Finn over her cat's eye frames. She is, he realizes, friendly but not, ever, to be fucked with. "Finn. I've heard a lot about you."

"Uh," Finn says, and then, even more intelligently, "Wow?"

She shakes his hand; her hand is tiny but it's one of the strongest grips he's ever felt. "Wow, indeed."

He has no idea what's happening. Poe's standing between them, hand on Finn's shoulder, cup nearly cracking in his other hand, and he's smiling like he's finally brought something into the sun.

Dr. Organa and Poe move away with the crowd, which relieves Finn more than he can say. He has less than no idea about anything at this point; he started the evening feeling fairly confident about his grasp on reality and who Poe is and who he is, and now he's moving through the motions of passing food and clearing wine glasses and, eventually, breaking down the trays and tables.

He and Rose and Kaydel are almost alone as the crowd clears away. He puts on a playlist, something else to distract himself, and so he doesn't notice that it's just him, Statura and some hardcore drunks.

And Poe, flickering back into Finn's consciousness.

"You almost done?" 

"Spring rolls are over by the window under my hoodie," Finn tells him.

"Score."

He doesn't understand _anything_. That fact doesn't seem to matter very much, however. He finishes breaking down the tables and pockets his little bluetooth speaker before joining Poe near the exit.

They don't go outside. Poe has a fire door propped open and they take three flights up to the roof. 

Poe sets down his prized spring rolls and turns, smoothly moving to embrace Finn. Finn thumbs up the volume on his shitty speaker; the track turns over to something vaguely Space Age free jazz. They're shuffling their feet, moving together, the gravel crunching as they wind their arms around necks and waists.

They're dancing. Swaying, shambling, kissing through the faint clouds of their breath. Below them, the woods are darker yet, all roundness and suggestions of texture, and above them, the sky is cloudy and indistinct, but right here, everything's nice and simple.


End file.
